Unbroken
by Modern Audrey
Summary: ...Red and orange filled her vision, burning at her retinas, and she looked away.' RoguePyro.


_Warning: Yeah... this is dark!fic. I'm not kidding. I've read worse here, but, still, it's not for the faint of heart. Just don't say I didn't warn you. And remember, if at any time you become disoriented, the exit is to your left;) _  
**edited to place an author's note at the end.**

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**Unbroken**

She refused to close her eyes.

The pain was almost more than she could bear, pulling at her, gnawing at her insides—but she refused to look away. Her eyes remained locked accusingly with those of her former friend, leaning indifferently against a nearby tree. Her ears tuned to the sound of a Zippo snapping open, and then closing, and opening again. The noise was her one link to sanity, and she clung to it.

The bark of the tree she was pressed against was rough against her back, but she hardly noticed it. Her hands were suspended above her, lashed roughly to a heavy branch. In front of her, Logan stood. And then Bobby. Storm. Kitty. Jean Grey.

The faces didn't really matter anymore—they had no real impact on her psyche. It was the hands that consumed her. From delicate to rough, thick to small, the structure continuously altered. But not the actions of the hands. Not the way they held the knife.

Maybe she should just let go. Maybe it would be better to break. Maybe that would end this ceaseless, agonizing abuse.

She had no secrets to tell. No information to surrender. If she had, all would have been revealed long ago. All she had was a leather uniform, and an 'x' emblazoned upon her chest.

Then the knife sliced deeper, separating fabric and cutting into the skin beneath, and even her 'x' was gone. Without it, she felt bare. The frightened little girl hiding in the recesses of her mind began to cry for a mother who had long since forsaken her.

She began to slip further down. Away from the grips of reality. Into those hard, calculating eyes. The eyes that held so little, but so much. The eyes that had become her one solace against the countless hours of torment.

The knife drifted further, cutting a shallow line to her navel. Her bare breasts were exposed to the cold air. Across the field, lounging in the still-smoking remains of the battlefield, Toad began to giggle.

If she had anything left—any shred of hope, any small piece of dignity—this would be where she began to struggle. She didn't move.

Blue skin became tan—rough and hairy. She refused to look up into the hazel eyes she had loved so much in life—for surely this wasn't life. Such pain could only exist in Hell. She suddenly became convinced that, yes, this _was _Hell. She had fallen along with her comrades, and this was Hell. With that, she broke. Death had been the one dream she had left to cling to. The one possible escape. Now, she became convinced, even that hope was gone. She had entered into Eternal Torment, and there was no way out.

Her slowly splintering mind flashed back to hot, balmy Sunday mornings in Mississippi. Sitting in her very best dress in the front pew of the Meridian Southern Baptist church, she had listened to countless descriptions of fire and brimstone, and a torture that never ended.

Above her, Logan smiled, eyes gone feral. A rough hand brushed over her chest, tugging at one delicate pink nipple. It was the first instance of skin-on-skin contact, and she shuddered. Her mutation didn't trigger in her weakened state, and, as if from a great distance, she heard herself laugh. It was almost funny; this was what she had hungered for, after all. To be able to touch.

Sabertooth approached, growling his appreciation, and the lips of the blue woman before her curved in sensual amusement. They spoke, but she didn't listen—too engrossed in the way that the blood staining Logan's hands had left fingerprints on the pale canvas of her breast.

'Finger painting', she thought to herself. That's what I used to do as a child. Finger paint.

The large man drew nearer, and her hands—tied harshly above her head—began to clench and unclench as unbridled terror coursed through her body. He spoke, but she didn't hear him. Her eyes squeezed closed, and she found herself somewhere else.

_She was sitting with John and Bobby outside of the mansion, gazing into the pale blue of the pond she loved so much. Next to her, John's Zippo clicked open and shut repetitively. It was almost soothing, and she found herself taking comfort in the familiar sound. Bobby complained, but she hurriedly quieted him. The ground was soft, and the day was beautiful, and she was with the two boys she loved more than anything in the world, except maybe Logan. This was no time for fighting. _

A massive hand made contact with her ankle, sliding roughly up and down her clothed skin.

_A duck suddenly dove underwater, fluffy backside and legs sticking straight up into the air as he went after a quick snack. She laughed, and Bobby went for his camera phone—walking away for a better shot. He smiled at her over his shoulder, and the sun reflected off of the gold in his hair. _

His hands were at her knees now, one resting on each leg. His nails were long and hard, cutting into her flesh through the heavy leather. Her eyes clenched tighter as she focused all of her remaining strength on tuning out the sounds and smells of the still-burning field. The lighter clicked in the background, steady and—if only in her mind—loud. The noise seemed to increase in frequency with the motion of the giant man's hands, sliding roughly up her legs. Or maybe that was just her heartbeat. The sound fueled her fantasy, giving her some small measure of comfort against this nightmarish reality.

_She laughed harder as Bobby stood too close to the water's edge, stumbling over a fallen branch and nearly toppling himself. He found his balance, sending an irritated glance back at them, and then realigned his shot._

_The sun beat down upon her covered skin, and she sighed her contentment, a gentle smile tugging at full lips. Next to her, the lighter stopped. A bare hand found her own—firmly encased in thin cotton—and her smile widened. She looked up into blue eyes, gazing indulgently into her own. Not smiling—never truly smiling. But closer to it than usual. _

Sharp hands tugged at her pants, ripping into the fabric as they were pulled forcibly from her body. Bare flesh dug into her uncovered legs, this time lingering long enough to leave a mark upon her psyche. If she hadn't before, she now knew what was coming next. She knew how much he was going to enjoy it.

The lighter had stopped its relentless flicking, and she found herself unable to return to her daydream. It wasn't real—not any of it. This was real. Pain was real. Humiliation was real.

The mountainous man began to move his hands even higher, skating along her upper thighs. The weak pull of her mutation seemed to have little effect on him—but he had an effect upon her. She nearly cried as her strength returned to her, bit by bit. With it came an increased consciousness of her surroundings. She could smell the trees, the smoke in the air, the burnt flesh.

_Why couldn't she just die_

Brown eyes opened, at last taking in her assailant. The pleasure reflected in his eyes matched his thoughts, and she closed them hurriedly. A gasping sob escaped her lips as wetness trickled down her cheeks. The man above her laughed, and then his hands were digging into the soft flesh of her breasts.

This _was_ hell. Satan couldn't be any more terrifying than the man above her. As she looked, she could almost imagine him surrounded by a backdrop of demonic flames.

He backed away suddenly, turning slightly away from her. And then she realized... he _was_ covered in flames. They licked at his skin, scorching his body as he protested—no real horror in his eyes. Only confusion.

_Had she at last lost her mind completely? Was this really happening, or simply another product of her imagination?_

The flames intensified, spreading out from the giant man in front of her—no, they were spreading out from _her_. She found that she was encircled by the fire, and it drifted out from her body, covering every surface of the field. Red and orange filled her vision, burning at her retinas, and she looked away. She could smell hair and flesh burning, and her stomach roiled. She clenched her eyes shut.

She didn't know how long she lay there, feeling the heat suffuse her body. She thought that maybe this was some sort of intermediary phase; maybe this portion of torment had ended, and she was being readied for her next punishment. Her eyes remained closed—her mind too exhausted to function properly. It was like being asleep, but with her body awake.

She could see the figure approaching, walking casually through the flames. She could _see _him, but did not really register what was happening. Her mind had closed down too far to comprehend it, and she merely watched—almost vacantly—until he finally stood over her, looking down with an incomprehensible expression upon his hardened face. A wave of his hands extinguished the fire surrounding them, and she was dimly aware of her bonds being released. Her arms ached, but she didn't move.

It was he who eventually lowered them from their position, stretched above her head, and returned them to her sides. His touch was almost tender, and she felt her mind slowly begin to reawaken. A jacket settled around her body, covering her naked skin, and she was dimly aware of being lifted into his arms. She remained limp against his chest, arms hanging awkwardly at her sides. Even if she wanted to move them, she didn't think that she could. He had to pause to arrange her better, and, leaning back against the tree, he pulled her arms up and around his neck. Her face settled into the crook of his shoulder, hair shielding his skin. When he stood, she was at last secure enough in his arms for him to move without fear of dropping her.

It was only as he began to move that she caught sight of her captors' remains. The fire had left little behind, and she was grateful for that, at least. The sun caught on a glint of silver, and her eyes found the blade of the knife—still stained red. Further back, she could clearly see the wreckage of the battlefield, the trees that had previously obstructed her view now replaced by smoke and ash.

Sobs began to shake her body, and, now that she had started to cry, she wondered if she would ever be able to stop. The man carrying her paused, his grip upon her tightening almost convulsively before he shifted her slightly in his arms. His hand was almost gentle as he pressed her face firmly against his chest and held it there, blinding her.

She clung to him, finding solace in the darkness.

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_All comments and critiques welcome! Particularly on this one, which is so far out of my comfort zone it's terrifying. _

So, so many thanks to **PsychoTherapy17**. Without her, I never would have had the guts to post this.

**Edited to Add: Several people have asked if I intend to continue this. I really think that it is more effective as a one-shot, but if you all have any ideas, I may consider a follow up one-shot at some point. Let me know if you have any ideas.**


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